


we found love

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Mafia AU, Romance, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which Bilbo meets Thorin and life takes unexpected turns.





	we found love

“It’s rainin’ cats and dogs out there, innit?”

Bilbo has to refrain from groaning.

Not only is it the taxi driver’s fifth attempt at conversation at this dreadful hour of eight in the morning, it is his third attempt conveying what the weather is currently doing. It has been raining for three days and Bilbo is starting to feel as waterlogged as the poodle someone is walking outside of the taxi’s window. It has little protection from the onslaught and Bilbo feels quite keenly for it, as he feels he has no protection from the onslaught of his upcoming publishing appointment.

Gandalf Grey is the most sought after publisher in London. Books from his firm see best sellers and bring in the money to match. Bilbo has yet to publish anything through him, which is a constant nagging reminder to do better, as Gandalf is an old family friend and to be turned away from him in his early days had left Bilbo seething with rage and smoldering with motivation. The manuscript currently residing in his satchel reflects those emotions, he thinks, and has a feeling it won’t be long until he has a best seller under his belt himself.

This is the one, he tells himself every morning.

He has prepared a much better speech for his appointment.

“Yes, yes, it is,” he says perhaps a little belatedly but the driver only bobs his head in acknowledgment and says no more.

Bilbo is thankful, as he is a firm believer that no one in their right minds should be bustling about and chatting before nine in the morning. His Baggins’ side of the family would say that is what most civilized people do but Bilbo has never been one to go along with the flow.

He has much bigger dreams than that.

“Here we are,” the driver says as he pulls up to the curb and gestures at the grand building before them.

Even while raining the magnificent white marble stands out beautifully against the low-hanging grey clouds above it. The Corinthian pilasters are particularly eye-catching and the long, vertical windows adorning the front of the building look like columns that belong on a Greek temple rather than a publisher’s firm but he would expect no less from Gandalf. He wishes to leave an impression on his clients and Bilbo is always humbly impressed by the architecture.

He pays the driver and holds his satchel close as he makes a quick jog for the towering red doors leading inside. He breathes a sigh of relief when he enters and takes an elevator to the third floor where Gandalf has reign over the offices.

Bilbo enters through the darkly-stained oak door with Gandalf’s name carved intricately into it and steps into the waiting room. He is comforted by the roar of a crackling fireplace, salmon colored poufs, a grey leather sofa, and the many, many bookshelves that line the walls, overflowing with the greatest literature of the past few hundred years.

But there is something missing from this familiar, peaceful atmosphere.

The scent of tea and butter biscuits and the sweet greeting of Julie.

Bilbo looks at the receptionist’s desk and is not quite prepared for such a rude awakening.

Sitting behind the desk is a darkly-bearded man with long, black hair that is tied in a high, neat ponytail, wearing thinly-framed silver glasses and typing away on a computer.

Bilbo realizes he is gaping and shuts his mouth, wandering closer to the desk and clearing his throat. The man doesn’t stop typing and Bilbo coughs a little. “Yes, hello, I have an appointment,” he says after it is clear the man does not intend on starting the conversation. It rankles Bilbo and his admiration for the man’s stunningly handsome features is dimmed.

“Name?” the man asks in a deep baritone, which does nothing but flame Bilbo’s admiration once again.

“Yes,” he says, then coughs again. “I mean, no, erm, Baggins. Bilbo Baggins. Is it Julie’s day off?”

“She retired some weeks ago,” the man says, still without bothering to look up from his computer screen.

Bilbo stands a bit taller, though he is mildly disappointed that he will likely never see Julie again, the dear that she is. “I see,” he says, straightening out his scarf and humming. “I hope she does well. And, ah… you are?”

“The receptionist,” the man says flatly and gestures toward the sofa. “Please have a seat, Mister Baggins. Mister Grey will be with you shortly.”

Bilbo is tempted to be cross with this man, who is clearly not meant to be a receptionist, if he is to say anything about it. He lacks politeness and more importantly, he seems to lack tea for visiting clientele.

“Julie always made tea,” Bilbo decides to say, perhaps with little self-preservation. “And she baked the most delightful butter biscuits.”

The man pauses in his typing and finally lifts his gaze to meet Bilbo’s, who has to try and will his heart into calming down once he gets a look at his eyes. They are the perfect shade of forget-me-not blue, which might be warm on anyone else but only manage to send a chill down Bilbo’s spine.

They stare at each other for a rather stifling amount of time, neither breaking eye contact, until at last the man huffs.

“I don’t bake butter biscuits,” he says simply and turns back to his computer screen. “Nor do I make tea.”

Bilbo takes it as the end of their conversation, which he is not particularly upset about, and hastens to the sofa to sit down. He pulls out his manuscript and begins to thumb through it, peeking above the pages now and then to look at the receptionist, who still managed to avoid giving his name.

He looks like a Tom, Bilbo finds himself thinking, then gives himself a good scolding. There are many good-looking men in London, many who are far less rude, and many that make tea for their guests.

He has a mind to tell Gandalf this and glances at the mahogany door in which the publisher resides behind. He’s a bit early for his appointment due to an unfortunate night of sleep but he had thought he would be entertaining Julie with stories of his nephew Frodo, not being ignored by a man who is too handsome for his own good and also happens to be dreadfully rude.

As Bilbo is following the lines of silver throughout the man’s hair, trailing off into his ponytail, he is startled into looking back down at his manuscript when those cold eyes lift to him.

“You wrote _The Dwarves and the Dragon?”_

Bilbo is momentarily taken aback by the question and shuffles on the sofa. “Oh, erm, yes, I did. Quite a while ago now,” he says warily.

“My nephews read it when they were young. They liked to imagine themselves as dwarves for more years than were likely healthy,” the man says, something much softer to his tone, and turns his gaze back to his computer.

Bilbo gapes at him and begins to feel a bit silly. Not everyone has the sunny disposition Julie had but this man… he is only that, a man, and Bilbo admonishes himself for being intimidated by him. He is nearing forty-five years old and has dealt with family members far worse than this man could ever dream to be.

He smiles. “If they were to imagine themselves as anything, I think a dwarf is as good as you can be,” he says. “But perhaps I’m a bit biased.”  
  
The man hums but doesn’t say anything and Bilbo decides not to take it personally this time. He goes back to looking over his manuscript and tries to ignore the familiar nerves before presenting his work to anyone. He knows this won’t be his last chance to publish this book but he desperately wants Gandalf to be the one to do it.

“How old are your nephews now?” he finds himself asking a few moments later and regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth. This man is not likely to be impressed with his small talk.

And indeed he does not answer for a moment. His hands stop moving over his keyboard and he turns to look at Bilbo fully, who tries not to fidget, but the man’s eyes look as if they’re taking every bit of who he is in.

“The oldest is twenty-four and the youngest is nineteen. A military man and a rockstar, respectively,” he says and there is the slightest curve to his lips that might have been a smile on anyone else.

“Adventurers,” Bilbo says and tries not to grin when the man looks mildly amused. “You must be very proud of them.”

“I was proud they decided not to be involved in the family business and took their own paths in life. They don’t take long separations from each other well but they are happy doing what they are doing. That is all I can ask for.”

Bilbo nods. “It’ll get easier the older they are, I’m sure,” he says and heavily debates his next question. “Is the, ah, family business not something you’re a part of either?”

The man seems to hesitate, observing Bilbo closely, which is slightly unnerving but he shakes his head. “I retired nearly two years ago. It didn’t take long for… boredom to come. I looked for something that might have been interesting.”

“Ah, yes, well, working for Gandalf can be nothing but interesting I imagine,” Bilbo says with a chuckle.

The man smiles. A real, actual smile, which does nothing for Bilbo’s aching heart. “Frustrating at times but… interesting nonetheless,” the man says, tone light, lighter than Bilbo ever expected it could be.

“Tea eases frustration, you know.”

“You are truly an Englishman,” the man says and raises an eyebrow. “The kettle hasn’t been used in two months.”  
  
Bilbo points his finger in the air. “But you do have one,” he says. “Are you hiding tea bags as well?”

The man heaves a sigh as if he is being interrupted from no doubt important business but he stands and moves to the large wooden filing cabinet. Bilbo tries not to ogle his backside but he hadn’t particularly expected someone so very tall and well put together. He is wearing a black suit with a sky blue tie and it’s fetchingly… tight.

Bilbo coughs and sets his manuscript aside, standing and wandering closer to the man as he pulls out Julie’s old electric tea kettle and a box of her famous lavender jasmine tea. “Aha! You’ve been holding out on me,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back and attempting to seem as unobtrusive as he can.

When he’s handed the kettle and tea bags, however, he takes them with a scoff. “I suppose I’ll sort this out. And where shall I…?” he asks, vaguely gesturing around the waiting room.

The man moves a stack of papers from one corner of the desk and indicates a socket to plug it into before he sits back down. “There are water bottles in the refrigerator,” he says, gesturing to the corner of the room, where there is a gleaming stainless steel mini refrigerator with a glass door.

Bilbo makes sure to huff and puff as he goes about his business of making tea while standing especially close to the man he still cannot name. He eyes his bulging biceps and his neat beard and the hint of his collarbone he can get an eyeful of from his elevated position over him. He blames the excessive saliva in his mouth on the thought of a good cup of tea and with a little coaxing, manages to get the kettle working.

“It’s very impolite to expect clients to make their own tea. I’ll be putting in a complaint with Gandalf.”

“Mister Grey knows that I don’t make tea.”

“Yes, well. You really should. Nothing like a good cuppa,” Bilbo says and for half a crazed moment considers asking this man out for one. He shakes himself and wipes his sweaty palms off on his trousers as he waits. A little friendly banter is not flirting - not that he remembers how to flirt as it is.

And men like this one mostly happen to be straight.

The mahogany door suddenly bursts open and Bilbo startles half out of his skin, clutching at his chest as he looks at Gandalf, who is as poised as ever, entering like a mad wizard or not. His grey and blue plaid suit is just a touch eccentric which is more than fitting.

“Bilbo, my boy!” Gandalf says, eyes twinkling as he looks between him and his receptionist. “Thorin has allowed someone to make tea at last.”

If Bilbo isn’t mistaken, Thorin has gone rather stiff, and is leveling an extremely impressive glare at Gandalf. Bilbo is certain he would have been fired on the spot had he looked at any of his managers that way.

He realizes belatedly that he is standing only a few feet from Thorin and steps around the desk. “I did have to bother him about it a few times but he has graciously let me make my own tea,” he says, pouring himself a cup and breathing in the lovely fragrance of lavender once he adds the tea bag. He makes a show of taking his time in sniffing it and smacks his lips when he has. “Very good indeed.”

“Shall we start now?” Gandalf asks, sounding rather amused, as he almost always does. “Or would you prefer to spend your time bothering Thorin?”

Bilbo would very much prefer that but the question only makes him flustered and his cheeks feel warm. He waves his hand. “Let’s get this blasted appointment going before my nerves fail me,” he says. “Not to say that you’ll be turning me down however.” He turns to Thorin and clears his throat. “Ah, well… thank you, Thorin. A good, strong name, you know.”

It takes him a moment to realize what has come out of his mouth and to proceed to a mortified state and Thorin looks as surprised to hear it as Bilbo himself is before he looks far too entertained for Bilbo’s tastes.

“Thank you,” he says, low, as if he doesn’t mean for Gandalf to hear.

Bilbo is certain no voice should be able to go to that octave. He hurries to the sofa to nab up his manuscript and gives an aborted wave to Thorin before he rushes into Gandalf’s office before he can make an utter fool of himself. He sits in the massive, high-backed leather armchair at the desk and tosses his manuscript onto it, covering his face with his hands.

“As true a wordsmith as ever,” Gandalf comments after he has closed his door and walks around the desk to sit down.

“Oh, hush,” Bilbo says, muffled against his skin. He throws his hands into the air. “You could have told me Julie retired! Then perhaps I would have been better prepared!”

“And yet I would have missed Thorin’s improving social skills.”

Bilbo huffs a bit and leans back in the chair. “He was rather rude when I first came in,” he says. “I wouldn’t have thought this job would have been something for someone… quite like him.”

“I think it is the perfect position for someone like him! He is far more efficient and skilled with paperwork and filing than even Julie was. Now, are we to speak of my receptionist or are we to discuss the contents of that beautifully bound manuscript?” Gandalf asks, steepling his fingers together and observing Bilbo with a keen eye.

“The manuscript, thank you,” Bilbo mutters and pushes it closer to Gandalf. _“Gwendoline Hightower and the Nine Rings,”_ he announces clearly and with some pride.

“And what tale am I to find with Gwendoline?”

Bilbo is glad to get back into his groove which had been so thoroughly disrupted by Thorin. He tells Gandalf of his story, of the characters and the world they live upon and outlines the plot just enough to spark the old man’s interest. He can tell he has Gandalf’s attention by the way he simply lets Bilbo speak and only asks the occasional question about the book’s origins and the editing process it has gone through. Bilbo has long finished his tea and snacked on butter biscuits Julie apparently sends to Gandalf monthly and who happened to have a suspiciously overflowing container today.

Gandalf talks business once Bilbo is done with his side of things and though it all sounds very complicated he seems to be heading in a positive direction and Bilbo holds his breath in anticipation. He will not stop trying until the day has come that he publishes through Gandalf. He remembers being a lad and watching his father get his many horticulture books published through him and can still recall the bitter taste of being turned down by the firm on more than one occasion. He had taken it personally and said things that he regrets and has apologized for but that was many years ago. This time… this time he will make it stick.

“I will read your novel as soon as time permits but I must say this is the most intriguing tale you have to tell yet,” Gandalf says, smiling enigmatically, and sets the manuscript on top of a few others on his desk. “I am greatly looking forward to this one, my dear Bilbo. Tell me, how far along are you on its sequel?”

Bilbo shakes his finger. “That I will not be divulging as I have no intention of sabotaging my own work with your expectations,” he says and smiles when Gandalf chuckles. “I have many plans for this universe, Gandalf, and I’m very fond of it.”

“I know that you are and I am certain I will become so as well,” Gandalf says and winks. “If you have not heard from me in, say, one month’s time, do give us a ring. I will be in Argentina for a short while after all.”

“Of course you will be,” Bilbo says and stands, offering his hand to Gandalf.

He takes it and shakes it warmly but he does not stand to walk Bilbo out.

Bilbo thinks this somewhat strange and says his goodbyes, wandering back into the waiting room with his empty mug and closing the door behind himself. He lets out a long, slow breath, the nerves he felt before tapering off into nothing but a bit of fatigue and he is glad. There is nothing more he can do now but wait and it feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

He looks toward Thorin and is surprised to see that he is being watched. He offers up a smile. “I do believe that went well,” he says and steps closer to his desk. “Erm, where can I put this?” He holds up the mug.

Thorin holds his hand out and when he takes the mug, their fingers brush together and Bilbo feels his heart jump into his throat, where it pounds painfully. He scolds himself for acting half his age and hikes his satchel up further on his shoulder.

“Thank you. I suppose I’ll be seeing you some time next month. S-Seeing Gandalf, I mean, of cou-”

“Go to dinner with me,” Thorin says quietly but powerfully enough to stop Bilbo’s mouth from running.

Bilbo stares at him, not sure he has heard him properly, and opens and closes his mouth. “I… I beg your pardon… go to what now?”

“Dinner,” Thorin says, his captivating eyes crinkled with amusement but his tone dreadfully serious. “With me.”

It is not the gruff goodbye that Bilbo was expecting and his entire world feels as if it has suddenly been turned upside down. He has already appreciated Thorin’s looks and despite himself been charmed by him but he has not been asked out by a man of his caliber in far longer than he would care to admit. Thorin seems to be much… more than Bilbo, who is slightly disgruntled to think it, but it feels true nonetheless.

Despite the chasm of silence stretching between them, Thorin looks nothing but patient.

Bilbo could kiss him.

“Dinner,” he repeats eventually and swallows around a dry throat. “Is it… is it appropriate?”

“I’m a receptionist, Mister Baggins, not Mister Grey himself,” Thorin says and leans forward some. “And he doesn’t have to know.”

Bilbo feels heat crawling into his cheeks. “Gandalf knows everything I’m afraid,” he says, an immense amount of adrenaline beginning to surge through his veins. He feels as if he could run all the way home, some forty kilometers that it is, and tries not to grin. “How… how many clients do you ask to dinner?”

Thorin chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound, which makes Bilbo’s toes curl in his oxfords. “You will be the first and I hope the only,” he says, something very warm in his eyes. He grabs a pad of professional paper and jots a number down on it. He signs it and hands it to Bilbo.

He takes it and sees that it’s signed _T.D._ “And the _D_ stands for…?”

“Durin,” Thorin says. “Thorin Durin, at your service.”

Bilbo laughs and tucks the precious piece of paper into his pocket. “And Bilbo Baggins at yours,” he says, feeling exceptionally giddy. “I’ll text you so you have my number. When would you like to have dinner?”

“Soon. Friday, if you’re free. It’s a shorter day here. Six.”

“Friday at six will do,” Bilbo says, as if he’s not free the vast majority of his evenings. “I’ll speak with you soon then. Goodbye, Thorin.”

“Goodbye, Bilbo,” Thorin says, wearing a small smile and doesn’t look away, not even when Bilbo walks to the door.

He opens it, glancing back at Thorin and gives a light wave, feeling somewhat silly for it, before he hastens his way down the hall and to the elevator. He takes it to the ground floor and when he walks outside, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that the rain is more of a mist than anything, with the sun peeking through the clouds overhead, and hails a taxi, warmed down to his bones.

When Bilbo is safely secured in the taxi, he retrieves Thorin’s number and enters it into his phone, for a wild moment wondering if Thorin has given him a fake number. He admonishes himself for it, wondering who would do such a thing, and sends a text.

_Serve tea to clientele._

_I don’t make tea._

_Learn. x_  
_  
If you insist._

——  
  
Bilbo knows that he has been riddled with nerves since he was a young child and that the times before a date can sometimes be where they present themselves the most. When he was younger he had been able to talk himself into a more stable mindset before going out and he remembers the speeches he used to give himself and the breathing techniques he used but they all seem incredibly worthless to him now.

He practices his speeches on Tuesday evening, his breathing on Wednesday before he goes out with his cousins (who manage to pry his date night plans out of him and buy him a congratulatory brew) but by the time Thursday comes, he’s in a bit of a state. No matter how many times he tells himself he is a bloody grown man, he thinks of Thorin’s eyes and his smile and finds himself feeling lightheaded. He cannot seem to recall the last date he went on and the idea that he is going to meet a man such as Thorin is not doing him any favors.

It’s a time that Bilbo wishes his mother were there to listen to his fears and to give him the advice he always needed to hear.

Unfortunately she is not, so Bilbo finds himself calling Ori, one of his dearest and closest friends. Hearing the mild-mannered and ever polite Ori tell him he is being an idiot, that Thorin is the luckiest man in all of England and that if he doesn’t believe it himself he’s more of a cock-up than Ori ever imagined, eases his nerves and makes him laugh. He thanks him and finds that when Friday morning rolls around he is buzzing with anticipation and excitement.

Thorin has texted him twice since Tuesday and while they were short conversations, Bilbo finds that he quite likes him. He tells Bilbo to dress business casually and they agree to meet at a restaurant of Thorin’s choosing in the city.

Bilbo finds himself in a taxi nearing the restaurant and though his stomach is roiling and fluttering and being an all around nuisance, he has a hold on it, and gazes out of the window at the bright lights of London. He is being driven to a restaurant on a more affluent street than he would normally choose for himself and hopes that Thorin isn’t thinking of spending a day’s worth of work tonight.

When the driver stops at the curb, Bilbo pays him, and steps out onto the wet pavement, glad that it is not raining at the moment but the scent of it is in the crisp air and promises to return. He admires the restaurant’s entrance, which is minimalistic, a maroon banner with golden lettering stating _Bombur’s_ , over two doors with glass so blacked out it’s impossible to see in. Bilbo had looked it up online out of curiosity and had been impressed by the high ratings and enthusiastic reviews. If Thorin is to learn anything tonight, it is that Bilbo enjoys a good meal.

Taking one deep breath in, Bilbo opens the door and slips inside, greeted by a warm, cozy atmosphere. It is smaller than he expected with tables spread out beyond the host’s podium, all covered in white cloth, standing on gleaming hardwood floors, dark and reflecting the soft lighting of round lamps. There are many people already enjoying a night out but it is not loud and Bilbo finds himself relaxing further, impressed with Thorin’s choice.

“Good evening, sir,” the host greets. “Do you have a reservation?”

Bilbo is somewhat distracted. Thorin has appeared from across the restaurant and he is walking toward Bilbo, taller and more handsome than he thought possible. He is wearing a light blue dress shirt that is unbuttoned one more button than Bilbo would be comfortable with but happens to look divine on him. His slacks are a deeper shade of blue and he is lacking a tie and a jacket, so Bilbo feels more at ease with his choice of a sweater vest and trousers.

“It looks like my date has already arrived,” he says to the host and smiles, unable to keep his eyes off Thorin. He makes a striking presence and Bilbo has a feeling that’s true no matter where he goes. He is simply larger than life.

“Bilbo,” Thorin says, voice low, and sounds almost surprised to see that he has shown up.

Perhaps Bilbo is not the only one weighed down by nerves.

“Hello, Thorin,” he says and grins. “I like this place already.”

“Good. It’s one of my family’s favorites,” Thorin says with a relieved smile and offers Bilbo his arm.

He feels giddy as he takes it and lets Thorin lead him to a table in the corner of the restaurant by a large window that overlooks a courtyard across the street. There are decorative lights wrapped around a light pole outside that give an enchanting glow over their table and Bilbo wonders if Thorin picked it on purpose.

“Thank you,” he says when Thorin has pulled out a chair for him and sits down. “You look, ah… you look very handsome.”

“Thank you,” Thorin says in return and Bilbo doesn’t think it’s a trick of the light how pink his cheeks look. “You look marvelous yourself.”

Bilbo laughs a bit nervously, adjusting his collar. “I’m not certain I’ve ever been described as marvelous before.”

“Then I will be sure to do so often,” Thorin says, smiling, his eyes warm.

Bilbo can’t help but blush and lifts up his menu, beginning to peruse it so he doesn’t have to be faced with Thorin’s blasted face. It takes him a moment of staring at what looks like gibberish before he realizes it’s the wine menu and feels a jolt in his stomach, switching to the proper menu as casually as possible.

“Did you choose a bottle?”

“Oh, well… to be honest, I’ve never heard of the majority of those wines. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I suppose if you’ve come here often enough then yes, yes I do,” Bilbo says with a laugh.

Thorin treats him to another smile and when the waiter comes to them (greeting Thorin by _Mister Durin,_ which is very curious to Bilbo) he orders a bottle of French wine that loosely translates to _the red riverside._ They are given a basket of three different types of bread, honey oat, French, and sourdough, which all happen to taste as if they’ve just left the oven of an artisan bakery.  
  
Their wine is poured by their waiter and Thorin gives it a proper treatment of a swirl, a sniff, and a small sip, and Bilbo has a hard time not staring at him. He forces himself to look over the menu and gets distracted trying to decide between the shrimp scampi and the spaghetti bolognese which both sound fantastic but Thorin offers his opinion when Bilbo asks and he goes with the scampi. They put their orders in with the waiter, who Bilbo notes Thorin is kind to, and look at each other and Bilbo feels his heart give a wild thump. He hardly knows Thorin but he finds he wishes to know everything about him.

“You’ve been publishing books since the early nineties,” Thorin says. “Did you always want to be a writer?”

“You’ve looked me up,” Bilbo accuses and laughs when Thorin doesn’t bother to look abashed. “My father was a writer. I suppose he passed it down to me. I was first published when I was twenty but it was to magazines and the like. I’m glad publishers like Gandalf don’t bother looking that deep, dreadful stuff.”

Thorin chuckles. “I have a feeling it wasn’t,” he says. “It was soon after that you published more than one book my nephews read. That _I_ read to them at some point.”

“A small world. I’m glad they enjoyed them,” Bilbo says and takes a sip of his wine. It’s delightfully full-bodied but not excessively dry and he reminds himself to compliment Thorin on his taste. “What about you? What sort of work did you retire from before you started with Gandalf’s firm?”

“I headed my grandfather’s company for most of my adult life. We handled mining, construction, infrastructure and banking. It was mostly paperwork and meetings and the occasional site visit,” Thorin says somewhat mechanically, as if he’s repeated it many times in his life. “I started when I was nineteen after being groomed for it by my grandfather and father.”

“It’s no wonder you retired so young,” Bilbo says, wondering how far he should go. “That sounds like quite a conglomeration. What did you do after you retired? You said that was two years ago but you’ve only recently started working with Gandalf?”

“It took a long time to hand the company over to another party so in reality I did work for a few months after my retirement. After that… I traveled. To places I actually wanted to go instead of business trips,” Thorin says with a smile. “Both of my nephews have seen more of the world than I ever had. It was time I caught up.”

“I’m very jealous, you know. I often get so into my writing that I forget to take a holiday. What’s been your favorite destination?”

Thorin is quiet for a moment, seeming to think on it. “The French Riviera,” he says, softly, almost as if he thinks Bilbo will poke fun. “The cities along the coast are beautiful. I wouldn’t mind growing old there.”

Bilbo smiles. “I’ve never been but from what I’ve seen of it, it looks like a fine place to grow old. With sunshine rather than rain,” he says and gestures out of the window and where it is beginning to sprinkle.

“My thoughts exactly,” Thorin says wryly and lifts his glass of wine.

Bilbo lifts his in return and they drink. Conversation goes into lighter tones from there, talking about their various interests, of which they have a fair amount in common. Bilbo is pleasantly surprised how easily they seem to get along. When their meals are brought out, Bilbo refrains from taking a picture of his perfect shrimp scampi and Thorin’s utterly divine salmon over rice pilaf. Thorin seems amused by Bilbo’s interest in their respective meals and offers a bite of his salmon which he thankfully does not feed off his own fork.  
  
He finds that _Bombur’s_ is quickly becoming a favorite though he doesn’t particularly wish to know the cost of a single meal. It’s not as if he’s not comfortable himself but he hasn’t always liked making a first date too fancy for the potential waste of money it might be. With Thorin however, he feels as if this evening will certainly not be a waste of his time.

And from the way Thorin keeps smiling at him, he thinks that he would agree.

They finish their meals and despite complaining about how full they both are, Bilbo is convinced to try the restaurant’s signature dessert, a butter cake served warm with vanilla bean ice cream on the side. For modesty’s sake, they share it.

When Bilbo is on his last bite, a rotund man in a black apron stained with what looks like flour and wearing a chef’s hat appears at their table. “Thorin! And a date, I should hope?” he asks, amiable and friendly, though his eyes are gleaming.

Thorin clears his throat. “Yes. Bombur, this is Bilbo, my date. Bilbo, Bombur is the head chef of the establishment,” he says and looks a little red.

Bombur takes up Bilbo’s hand with both of his and gives it a mighty shake. “Good to meet you! Mahal wept, a date! Dis must not know if she hasn’t texted me,” he says and gives Bilbo an exaggerated wink.

“Dis?” Bilbo asks in confusion.

“My sister,” Thorin mumbles somewhat feebly and gives Bombur a half-hearted glare. “She doesn’t have to know what I’m doing every night of my life.”

“She used to know before you did,” Bombur says and grins. “How were the meals?”

“Oh, delicious, truly,” Bilbo says perhaps with too much gusto. “The shrimp were lightly breaded, not something I’ve seen in a scampi before. And this butter cake is to die for! I wouldn’t be able to get a recipe out of you by chance, would I?”

“Trade secrets, lad, trade secrets,” Bombur says with a chortle. “Though I always encourage guests to try and recreate it at home. If nothing else, it leads to cake.”

Bilbo chuckles. “Indeed it does. I’ll need to have it again before I try.”

“It sounds like Thorin needs to bring you here again then!” Bombur says and claps Thorin on the shoulder. “But I’m interrupting! Enjoy your evening, lads.” He bustles back off to the kitchen after Bilbo and Thorin say their goodbyes.

Bilbo looks at Thorin and laughs. “I suppose this is more than a family favorite restaurant? If the head chef knows your sister well enough to be told your business…”

Thorin sighs. “Yes, I’ve known Bombur for many years. My family helped him start his restaurant,” he says. “I’m going to get a phone call from that irate sister tomorrow.”

“Would that be so bad?” Bilbo asks, taking a sip of his wine.

“No. No, it wouldn’t be,” Thorin says, his eyes soft.

Bilbo blushes a bit and his stomach flutters but he’s very pleased to hear it. They gaze at each other for a moment, neither looking away and Bilbo feels as if he must say something here but he doesn’t know what. He’s tempted to ask Thorin to come home with him but he knows he can’t, not yet, not when it could ruin the beginning of something potentially special.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Thorin asks after a pleasant silence, looking out of the window. “The rain seems to have stopped. There’s a beautiful park not far from here.”

Bilbo is glad _Thorin_ seems to know what to say. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to,” he says, smiling, relieved.

Thorin smiles, pulls out enough money for a generous tip but surely not enough to cover the bill and stands from his chair, taking up a pea coat that was hanging on the back of it and pulling it on. He offers Bilbo a hand and he takes it in confusion.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the bill?” he asks, standing and craning his neck for the waiter.

Thorin looks sheepish. “I… don’t pay when I come here. I didn’t bring you here for that reason, I really do love this restaurant,” he says in a bit of a rush.

“It’s alright, Thorin,” Bilbo says, laughing. “I suppose if you’re friends with the head chef you might benefit from it on occasion. Though that wine can’t have been cheap. Are you sure we shouldn’t leave something more than the tip?”

Thorin shakes his head. “They won’t take it,” he says and sighs. “A family tradition, I’m afraid. Shall we?”

Bilbo feels odd not paying for a fine dinner but he nods and leaves the restaurant with Thorin. They walk together down the street and around the corner and a park lit by many golden lamps lays before them. It’s dark but Bilbo can still see the sweeping, rolling hills of grass, a walking trail, and a massive pond. He breathes in the cool air, smelling rain and grass and listens to the rustling of many large trees, oak and chestnut. It is a lovely place and he’s surprised he never visited it before.

They walk closely enough that their arms brush together and make the occasional conversation as they follow the trail down toward the pond’s edge. Bilbo is happy to see waterfowl, ducks and geese and swans, all sleeping out on the water or nestled together on a hill close by. He wishes it were daytime and that he had a bag of seed but he supposes Thorin’s company is just as good.

And he’d like to keep it that way.

“I want to do this again,” Thorin murmurs after a while, almost shyly. “You’re wonderful.”

Bilbo laughs, unable to help it, and when Thorin huffs at him, he grins, giving his collar a tug. “I’d quite like that. You happen to be wonderful too, you know. Despite the fact that you made a very poor first impression.”

Thorin ducks his head but he is grinning and making an obvious effort not to. “Sorry. I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m working-”

“You’re a _receptionist.”_

“-be that as it may,” Thorin continues, laughter coloring his voice, “When I laid eyes upon you, I was glad for the distraction.”

“I’m a distraction, am I?”

“Only from mundane paperwork. I’d like you to be a presence in my life otherwise.”

Bilbo is feeling a bit flustered. “We hardly know each other but… I do want the same. When would you like to meet again?”

“I’d say tomorrow to avoid listening to my sister give me tips on how to act normally on a date,” Thorin says with a wry smirk. “But it’ll be best to get it over with. What about Sunday for brunch? I know a place.”

“I do love a good brunch,” Bilbo says, rocking on his toes and smiling. “And I’ve never had a brunch date before. I must warn you, I am a fan of mimosas.”

“As it so happens, so am I,” Thorin says and gently reaches out, his fingertips brushing the back of Bilbo’s hand.

His heart pounds in his ears and he feels very light as he turns his hand and lets Thorin twine their fingers together. He doesn’t normally let anyone close enough on a first date do this but Thorin feels… different. Bilbo can only hope that he is as genuinely kind a person as he seems to be but he’s feeling swept off his feet by him. He knows he doesn’t truly want to rush into things and that he must be careful but he hasn’t felt this way since he was in his twenties.

“Would you like me to give you a drive home?” Thorin asks after a while of simply enjoying each other’s company.

“No, no, it’s alright. I’ll get a taxi. It’s a bit of a drive,” Bilbo says and squeezes Thorin’s hand. “But thank you.”

They leave the park together and while they’re walking, Thorin sends a text with his free hand. Bilbo wonders if it’s to his sister but he doesn’t ask about it and soon they are in front of the restaurant again. They wait together until there is a free taxi and Thorin hails it for Bilbo.

“Will you get the next one?” Bilbo asks as Thorin opens the door for him.

He shakes his head. “My ride is there,” he says and points across the street.

Bilbo is surprised to see a sleek black sedan, a Mercedes he thinks, and that there is a driver dressed in a crisp suit waiting outside the car. He blinks a few times before he looks at Thorin who looks somewhat nervous.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home?”

“Oh… yes, I’m sure, thank you,” Bilbo says hesitantly. The last thing he expected tonight was for Thorin to have a personal driver and he wonders more about his previous job and how financially stable he must be. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not. “Well, erm. I’ll talk to you soon, Thorin. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Thorin nods, remaining quiet for a moment before he leans in and Bilbo’s breath stutters but instead of a rather unexpected but not particularly unwanted kiss, Thorin places a very chaste one to his cheek. Bilbo is both charmed and disappointed by it. He hears his mother cackling at him but pushes that quickly aside, smiling.

“Good night, Thorin.”

“Good night, Bilbo,” Thorin says and sees Bilbo into the taxi. He closes the door and steps back, lifting his hand in farewell.

Bilbo waves back at him and lets out a shaky sigh before he tells the taxi where to go. He leans back against the seat and lifts his trembling hands, glaring at them. Perhaps he is in a little too much over his head.

The funny thing is though that he doesn’t mind it.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out, looking at a text.

_Marvelous._

Bilbo laughs. Perhaps he’s in it just the right amount.

——  
  
Saturday is spent trying and failing miserably at not thinking about Thorin. But Bilbo cannot help it. There is something about him that piqued his interest the moment he saw him and he has to refrain from texting all of his friends about him. Only his cousins Primula and Drogo and his friend Ori knew there was a date to begin with and though they have already pressed him for details, he holds back as much as he can. Perhaps if he pretends he is not overly excited about it then he will not feel that way.

It doesn’t work.

When Sunday comes around, Bilbo gets ready two hours before he actually has to, considering they are meeting at eleven. Time moves slowly but eventually he is in the city and meeting Thorin at a restaurant that has a brunch buffet. It’s exceptionally beautiful inside and Bilbo feels that Thorin does not likely eat at places that aren’t. They get mimosas and load up their plates with as much apple-stuffed french toast, eggs benedict, massive crab legs and lobster claws as they can carry, and Bilbo doesn’t bother pretending he can’t eat as much as he can. He is even more impressed that Thorin manages to keep up with him though his dessert plate is considerably smaller than Bilbo’s.

They’re more at ease with each other and talk about their childhoods, their families, and themselves. The more Bilbo gets to know Thorin, the more smitten he becomes. He is a charming man and the fact that he turns a lovely shade of red when Bilbo compliments his luxurious hair is only a bonus.

He does notice that Thorin doesn’t like to talk about his grandfather or his old career and wonders why but thinks it is far too early to ask. It is especially noticeable in how much he enjoys talking about his nephews, almost as if they were his own. He doesn’t have children himself and Bilbo suspects that when Thorin mentions his sister’s husband having died many years ago, he helped to raise them.

Given the amount of mimosas that they both consume, they decide to take another walk together and visit shops and boutiques, not buying anything until they reach a chocolate shop and Bilbo gets himself a massive homemade marshmallow dipped in chocolate. He debates offering to share it but Thorin looks pained watching him eat it, so he decides against it.

All together it is a wonderful way to spend a Sunday and it’s not until it is nearing dusk that they make plans to see each other on Friday again and part ways. It’s a bit difficult to say goodbye this time but Thorin’s kiss to his cheek is very welcome and warms him to his toes.

Bilbo fills the rest of his week in by trying to keep busy working on a short story he has been planning for a long while. He writes and edits and spends a lot of his time on his phone texting Thorin. They have exchanged pictures to have as each other’s icon’s and Bilbo feels a thrill when Thorin calls him and he is able to look at his handsome face before answering.

Nearing Friday, Bilbo feels his phone begin to vibrate and hastens to grab it, expecting it to be Thorin. He’s disappointed to see Drogo’s name before he admonishes himself for it and picks up the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Bilbo,” Drogo says and doesn’t sound as cheerful as he normally might.

“Everything alright?” Bilbo asks, dreading the news. “Frodo? Prim?”

“No, no, everything’s fine,” Drogo quickly assures. “Sorry, I was just, um… well, I was on the internet, you know…”

Bilbo waits to hear his news but when he doesn’t say anything further, he raises his eyebrows as if Drogo can see him. “And…? What did you find on the internet?”

“Have you ever actually looked your boyfriend up?”

Bilbo feels his insides squirm and frowns. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he says, ignoring the slight twinge to his heart when he says it. It’s too soon. “But no, I haven’t. Do I, erm… do I want to?”

“You might,” Drogo says, tone apologetic. “There were some interesting articles. I just want you to be safe. You don’t know someone until you _do,_ you know?”

There is an uncomfortable chill down his spine but Bilbo ignores it and walks to his sofa, picking up his laptop. “I suppose that’s true. He’s not married, is he?”

Drogo laughs though it sounds somewhat nervous. “No, god no, he’s not. I would have told you straight away. It’s… other things.”

“Other things,” Bilbo says, opening up his laptop and a search page. He hovers his fingers over his keyboard, his heart pounding a rapid staccato rhythm in his chest and he finds himself genuinely afraid. “And… and articles. As in, plural?” Drogo hums an affirmative and Bilbo swallows. “Thank you, Drogo, I’ll look into it.”

“We only want the best for you, Bilbo,” Drogo says. “And it’s not all bad, only… interesting. Give us a ring if you need anything, alright?”

“Alright,” Bilbo answers uncertainly. “I will. Bye, Drogo.”

Drogo says his goodbyes and Bilbo hangs up the phone. He stares at the blank search page in front of him and feels a cold sweat gathering on his forehead and his back. Thorin did head a major corporation so perhaps there are work related articles though Bilbo doesn’t know what would be so terribly interesting about that.

He takes a breath and types Thorin’s name in and searches it.

_Durin To Retire After Over Thirty Years of Service._

Not so bad, Bilbo thinks, and scrolls through more article headlines.

_Durin Corp. To Purchase Major Hotel Corporation._

_The Durin Family Owns Half Of London And Why You Should Be Worried About it._

Bilbo doesn’t particularly like the sound of that one. He opens the article and reads an opinion piece of why one family owning so many different businesses and companies throughout London should be worrisome. Bilbo is vaguely reminded of how Amazon seems to be swallowing other companies whole and can somewhat see the sense in being concerned by it but he is more shocked at the vast amount of businesses listed that the Durin family owns.

When it lists some high-end restaurants, Bilbo has a strange inkling. Thorin did not pay at _Bombur’s_ and he had mentioned that his family helped Bombur start it. Perhaps the Durin family owns the restaurant though it begs the question of why Thorin did not just admit this.

One of the more alarming articles is _Durin Corp. To Be Audited, Suspected Money Laundering Scheme._ There is an update to the article that says the corporation was found to be in good standing with no evidence of money laundering found by the NCA.

He is relieved to read it but he also wonders how it came to be that they were even suspected of it. There are other more benign articles, one of which announces the death of Thorin’s father and mentions when his grandfather had died, some twenty-eight years previously. Bilbo can’t find much more that would be considered interesting and ends his search after a while.

There is some part of him that feels overwhelmed… Thorin must be drowning in millions and it would make sense for him to like higher end restaurants and to have a personal driver. And to not tell Bilbo that he is bloody rich. He wonders if he should, or even how he _would,_ bring it up to Thorin.  
  
_I googled you and found out you’re filthy rich, tell me more about that._  
  
He cheers himself up at the thought of it and goes about browsing social media accounts for the next little while.  
  
When Thorin calls him later that evening, he doesn’t bring it up and they make plans to meet in a few days for another date.

——

Dating Thorin is nothing quite like what Bilbo expected.

He is patient and kind and though they do butt heads on occasion about literature or theater and the like, it’s always done with a dose of humor and they come out learning more about one another. Thorin does tend to like the fancier restaurants but he lets Bilbo choose where they are to go whenever he wants and is always impressed by the food much to Bilbo’s pleasure. They begin to go to breakfast every Sunday morning and eat out once or twice during the week as well.

Gandalf calls Bilbo and announces the news that he will be publishing Bilbo’s novel and Bilbo celebrates that night with Thorin, who very graciously gives him a ride home when he gets properly smashed.

Thorin doesn’t press Bilbo to do more than he’s comfortable with but he does find himself getting impatient with Thorin’s mild kisses to his cheek. When Bilbo grabs him by his long hair and kisses him until he’s red in the face and breathing heavily, Thorin doesn’t seem to mind, and it leads to many snogging sessions in the back of Thorin’s car. After a month of this, Thorin asks Bilbo to be his boyfriend and what can Bilbo do but say yes?

One night while sitting on a bench outside enjoying the cool breeze after a romantic dinner Thorin does take him by surprise.

“Sorry?”

“Come home with me,” Thorin repeats, low and with intent.

Bilbo gapes at him. It’s not that the idea is a bad one necessarily, he has just found himself so used to their routine that the shakeup leaves him feeling nervous and unsure of himself.

“Oh, well…”

“You don’t have to,” Thorin is quick to say, worry lining his voice. “And I don’t mean for… _that,_ I only mean… come stay with me tonight. Sleep next to me. Meet my family.”

“Can, ah, can that last one be done before the other one?” Bilbo asks, voice a bit higher in pitch than normal.

Thorin laughs. “Yes,” he says, taking hold of Bilbo’s hands, lifting them up and pressing kisses to his knuckles. “My sister says that if I keep talking about you without letting you two meet she’ll hunt you down herself. I would not put it past her.”

Bilbo is somewhat concerned by how serious Thorin sounds and chuckles nervously. “We best meet then,” he says, his stomach roiling. He swallows, taking in one quick breath. “Yes. Yes, I would like to stay with you tonight. I hope you have an extra toothbrush.”

“I think that I can manage,” Thorin says with a warm smile and kisses Bilbo’s forehead.

Thorin texts his driver and it is only a few moments before he has pulled up in front of them. They get into the car and when Thorin tells the driver to head home Bilbo feels his nerves flare to life. Thorin must sense this because he takes Bilbo’s hands and holds them, his thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and simply remains a solid presence by his side.

They drive across the city, steadily passing more and more affluent streets with manors and mansions and penthouses and Bilbo is completely taken by it all. He remembers being a teenager and driving with his friends past these parts to take in the luxurious homes and guess how many pounds each one was worth. To think his boyfriend lives anywhere near here has him feeling a little faint. It doesn’t get any better when they turn into Eaton Square and begin to head for a massive manor. Bilbo secretly hopes that the car will drive past but instead it turns and pulls into the drive and Bilbo stares, wide-eyed, at the home.

“Bloody hell, Thorin,” he mutters, looking at Thorin, who looks nervous and concerned.

“My father bought it,” he says, as if this will mitigate the shock.

“And you’ve remodeled it to fit the modern era,” his driver comments.

Thorin sighs. “Thank you, William,” he grumbles, squeezing Bilbo’s hands. “Can I give you a tour?”

“I suppose you better.”

They say goodnight to William and get out of the car, heading for the tall front doors into the manor, which must have at least six floors. Bilbo tries not to feel dizzy. Thorin unlocks the door and ushers him inside to the brightly lit foyer, which is a long hall lined with marble floors, wainscoting and crown moulding. There are mirrors and paintings on the wall and Bilbo knows he has only seen the beginning.

Thorin leads him down the hall where they pass French doors leading into an absolutely massive formal dining room. Attached to that is a bar Bilbo would expect to see in downtown London, not in someone’s home, and is simply trying not to laugh at this point. It might sound a bit crazed for his liking.

The kitchen is next, with sandy tiles and dark quartz countertops and top-line stainless steel appliances. So far it is Bilbo’s favorite room and he is very jealous of whoever gets to use the double oven. Thorin seems entertained by Bilbo’s interest and grabs them both a beer while they are there and they continue to the next floor, taking the stairs, though Thorin does mention there’s a lift, just in case Bilbo becomes inebriated.

It earns him a swat to the arm but Bilbo relaxes and decides to simply go with the flow. It will be easier for his heart to handle.

He is shown two reception areas and a terrace that are big enough to host parties for dozens of socialites, which Thorin assures him happens rarely now that he is retired and they move onto the next floor, which solely belongs to Thorin. The bedroom is as large as Bilbo’s own sitting room is and that is not including the dressing room and bathroom that has not one but two bathtubs. Bilbo finds this agreeable and has a hard time saying goodbye to the idea of a bath but Thorin wishes to show him more, so he follows him to the lift and they take it down to the basement, passing a floor which Thorin says belongs to Balin, his former personal assistant, who is now Dis’s assistant. Bilbo has heard much about him and wonders if he will meet him before he leaves tomorrow.

Thorin explains to Bilbo that the basement is the second most popular room in the home, the kitchen being first, and Bilbo laughs when they step out of the lift and into the large floor space. It is a home cinema with a huge screen built into soundproof walls and there are many sofas and armchairs and chaise lounges to accommodate a good many people. Thorin says that he hosted many of his nephews’ parties when they were younger here and Bilbo is not surprised.

Bilbo opens the cabinet built into the wall and begins to browse the movie selection while Thorin takes a seat on the light grey chaise lounge. He is far more enticing to Bilbo, who leaves his search and goes to join him. It is not long before they are snogging each other senseless, with wandering hands and muffled gasps.

“You could have at least introduced him first.”

They spring away from each other and look toward the doorway where a formidable looking woman stands.

Thorin’s slack-jawed look melts into annoyance and he buttons his shirt up. “Dis,” he sighs, standing and helping Bilbo to his feet. “You could have knocked.”

Dis simply smiles rather too predatorily for Bilbo’s liking and turns her striking Durin blue eyes on him. She is close to his own height with the same thick, wavy hair Thorin has, only without the grey, hanging loosely around her shoulders. She is both curvy and athletic and someone Bilbo would expect to live up to the stories of her he has heard.

“You must be Bilbo,” Dis says and steps closer, extending her hand.

“Bilbo Baggins, my sister, Dis,” Thorin says with some resignation.

Bilbo takes Dis’s hand and gives it a good shake, unsurprised by her firm grip. “It’s wonderful to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says honestly. “You and your sons live here as well?”

“When they’re in the country,” Dis says with a smile that is far more friendly. “My brother is incapable of talking about anything but you these days so I’m glad you’re finally here. Will you be staying with us tonight?”

“With me,” Thorin mumbles.

Dis rolls her eyes. “Obviously,” she says and smirks at Bilbo. “I’ll stop interrupting before Thorin glares at me any further. If you’re staying for breakfast, Bilbo, I’ll be glad to make you some pancakes. We welcome people to the family by seating them at our table.”

“O-Oh, well… yes, that sounds very nice,” Bilbo says, a bit flustered. “Thank you, Dis.”

“Stay safe tonight, boys,” Dis says and with a wink, she is gone.

“Stay safe?” Bilbo asks Thorin, raising his eyebrows.

Thorin has gone a fine shade of pink. “Ignore her,” he says feebly. “Please.”

Bilbo laughs and threads his fingers with Thorin’s. “Let’s go back upstairs. To your bed, preferably. For sleeping, that is,” he says, smiling. He has a few more ideas in mind.

From the way Thorin looks at him, Bilbo suspects he knows.

——  
  
Bilbo wakes to what is possibly the most comfortable bed he has ever slept in, along with one of the best night’s of sleep he has ever had. He takes a while to open his eyes and peers around the somewhat darkened bedroom thanks to deep blue and fluffy curtains over the windows. There is light snoring next to him and a heavy, warm arm is draped over his bare stomach and he has a hard time not cheering to himself.

He hardly ever thought he would be in this position again. It has been many years after all and he wasn’t looking for it. It seems Thorin has blindsided him.

Bilbo is not too upset about it.

He looks at Thorin, who is on his side with his mouth slightly agape. Bilbo simply watches him for a time, following the outline of his beard, of his thick eyebrows, of his pointy nose. And it wouldn’t do to miss his superbly sculpted chest and arms. He is a fine sight to wake up to and Bilbo thinks that he’d like to do it for a long time yet. Maybe even forever… but perhaps it’s too soon to think about such things.

Thorin’s snores taper off and his brow wrinkles and eventually his eyes open and Bilbo is treated to the lovely shade of blue that they are. It takes Thorin a moment of blinking blearily before he focuses on Bilbo and those eyes crinkle and a smile spreads across his lips.

“Good morning,” Bilbo says, smiling in return and resting his hand over Thorin’s.

“Good morning,” Thorin says and shifts closer, pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Bilbo laughs. “And what have I done already?”

“Been a perfect sight to wake up to.”

“Do you know, I was thinking just the same a moment ago. Despite your bed hair.”

“You are not one to talk of bed hair.”

“Fair point,” Bilbo says, reaching up to scratch his head, wrinkling his nose. “Goodness, only a shower will fix it.”

“A shower isn’t a bad idea,” Thorin says, glancing toward the bathroom. “Let’s take one.”

Bilbo thinks that’s a wonderful idea and gets out of bed with Thorin, ogling his backside, glad that he has a better view than last night. It is clear Thorin exercises regularly and Bilbo can’t help but feel somewhat self-conscious. He is certainly softer, especially around the middle, and he wonders what Thorin thinks of him. Considering what they got up to last night, maybe he shouldn’t worry much about it.

After admiring the shower large enough to fit four people comfortably with two separate shower heads on either wall and a rainfall one in the center ceiling, Bilbo steps in with Thorin and decides he’d never like to leave again. He tells Thorin this, who simply laughs, and they wash themselves much more quickly and efficiently than Bilbo had with any of his previous partners. And when they come together and kiss, it is with far fewer pointy elbows into hard walls.

It takes them a while to finish up but they do and dry and dress and when Thorin checks his phone, he tells Bilbo that Dis says breakfast will be ready shortly. They leave the bedroom and take the stairs down to the ground floor and Bilbo finds himself a bit nervous. Dis and he had not shared a long conversation last night and he hopes that he earns her approval simply by being himself. The stories he has heard from Thorin make him worry that she has high standards, especially when it comes to her family.

There has never been a time in his life that he wasn’t accepted by his partner’s family and he thanks his father for passing down the _excessively normal and perhaps a bit boring_ trait. He’s bothered that it is now when he is nearly middle-aged that he feels an impending doom upon having a meal with his boyfriend’s sister.

He is only glad that there will be no one else joining them. Thorin has already told him that his nephews, Fili and Kili, were thrilled that their old favorite author is dating their uncle and consider him part of the family by virtue. If they are impressed with him they might not be so hard to tackle when the time comes for him to meet them.

When they enter the kitchen Bilbo sees Dis at the kitchen island mixing together pancake batter, homemade rather than out of the box, and there are three place settings on the bar. There is orange juice already poured for them and the scent of coffee is in the air and Bilbo feels himself relax some in the homey environment.

“Good morning, boys,” she says, smiling and blowing a loose hair from her ponytail from her eyes. “I’ve made coffee.” She gestures to a pot keeping warm on the fanciest coffee brewer Bilbo has ever seen in a home kitchen.

“Oh, thank you, Dis, that’s wonderful.”

Thorin kisses his sister’s forehead as he walks by her and mumbles something Bilbo can’t make out and decides is none of his business. They pour themselves coffee, both with creamer but only Bilbo with a few scoops of sugar and take their seats on the cushioned stools at the bar.

There are delectable strawberries cut into slices with fresh, plump blackberries and raspberries on their plates and Bilbo feels his mouth water. He thinks he should wait but Thorin is already popping blackberries into his mouth and Bilbo decides to follow along, amused by how large the pile of berries is on Thorin’s plate.

“I’m expecting a call soon,” Dis says and gives Thorin a long look.

“From which one?”

“Kili,” Dis sighs. “So it’ll be a video call. He’ll want to speak with you and Bilbo.”

Bilbo feels his nerves flare to life and sticks a strawberry slice into his mouth.

“Only if Bilbo wants to,” Thorin says gently and reaches over to squeeze Bilbo’s thigh.

“Erm, well, yes. I’d like to meet your nephews in any way that I can. From what I understand, it might be a while before I can meet them in person.”

Thorin smiles and gives his thigh another reassuring squeeze before he goes back to his berries.

“And don’t worry, Kili will fill in any dead air,” Dis says with a fond look. “It comes with a lack of a filter.”

“Thorin has said as much,” Bilbo says, laughing. “My nephew is much the same. He was such a shy child but he doesn’t know how to be quiet now that he’s sixteen.”

Dis chuckles. “To be young again,” she says and begins pouring batter into a prepared pan on the range.

They make small talk as Dis cooks and she asks Bilbo many questions about his life. He suspects she is sussing him out and responds mildly and with the good humor he knows best. She seems to like him and teases Thorin occasionally and he takes it with a wry look here and there at Bilbo as if he means to say _see what I told you?_ And Bilbo responds with a look that he means to say _she’s perfect._

Pancakes are made and eaten and there are plenty of laughs and good-natured stories to be shared. When they are scraping their plates clean, Thorin gets a phone call and when he looks at the number, he turns to chiseled stone.

“Excuse me,” he says quietly and stands from the bar, disappearing quickly out of the room but not before Bilbo hears, “Da?” There is a moment of silence and though Thorin is walking further away, Bilbo can still hear him say, “Ya v otstavke.”

Bilbo blinks after him before turning to Dis, who is looking at him calmly, as if she expects the question. “Was that, erm… was that Russian?”

“He learned it in college. Along with Italian and French,” Dis says. “An old business partner is Russian.”

“Shouldn’t he be calling you or your partners then?”

“He’s trying to goad Thorin out of retirement,” Dis says with a sigh, looking after her brother. “It won’t work but he still tries occasionally. He owes our business far more than we owe him.”

Bilbo is uncomfortable with Dis’s hard tone and decides not to ask more about it. He instead offers to wash dishes and Dis accepts, letting him take over the sink and do the washing. When he is done, Thorin has still not returned and there is an obvious shift in mood from Dis. She is furiously texting away on her phone and he sits back down at the bar, not sure what to do with himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude,” Dis says after a while though she doesn’t set her phone aside. “Business calls every day. It would be nice if it didn’t on the weekend.” She smiles wryly. “I’m going to go grey like Thorin has.”

“It’ll look very becoming on you,” Bilbo says with a chuckle. “I have no doubts about that.”

“Thorin dyed his out when it first started coming in,” Dis says quietly and with a smirk. “He thought 48 was too young. It was hilarious until he decided to embrace it.”

Bilbo laughs. “I can only imagine. It does make him look very… suave.”

“Until he opens his mouth.”

They laugh together but both proceed to jump when Dis’s phone begins to ring. She takes a look at the screen and grins, answering it. It is no doubt a video call.

“Mum!” a youthful, cheerful voice says.

“My darling! How are you?”

“Great! What time is it there?”

“It’s nearly nine-thirty. We’ve just had breakfast. Your uncle, Bilbo and I, that is to say.”

“No way, Bilbo’s there? Pass the phone, pass the phone!”

Dis laughs, shrugs at Bilbo, and hands him the phone.

Bilbo feels more than a little out of his element and takes it with hardly anytime at all to be surprised. He lifts the phone to eye level and gets his first real look at Kili. He is a handsome lad, with brown hair that falls to his shoulders and into his eyes, with stubble growing on his cheeks, and bright, brown eyes. He beams and Bilbo wonders if he would find similarities between Kili and Thorin if he were to get a look at old family photos.

“Bilbo!” Kili cheers. “Uncle Thorin has been driving Mum mad talking about you all the time!”

Bilbo coughs. “Yes, so I’ve heard,” he says, his cheeks warm. “It’s very nice to meet you, Kili, your uncle also happens to talk quite a bit about you. You’re in… Japan?”

“Yes!” Kili says and swings the phone around a decently-sized hotel room though Bilbo can’t make out the details considering how fast Kili moves. “We’ve been here three days and we leave for Korea tomorrow. Then it’s on to Germany and Belgium before I can get back home.”

“I hope you’re seeing some sights while you’re there,” Dis comments, leaning closer to Bilbo to look at her son.

“Yes, Mum, we are,” Kili says with an important air. “You’ll be happy to know I’m a right proper tourist. Though I haven’t insulted the natives yet. Still plenty of time for that.”

Bilbo snorts. “Maybe you can avoid that one,” he says. “Where would you like to tour again if you had the chance?”

“I’d like to go back to New York. We only stayed two nights and did a show each one so we barely saw anything but the food there was amazing. Uncle Thorin loves New York too, he’s been loads of times but never took us there. Couldn’t really, could he?”

“Kili,” Dis says and to Bilbo’s ears it sounds like a bit of a warning. “You wouldn’t have liked going on those trips anyway.”

“I suppose not,” Kili says thoughtfully before looking at Bilbo. “So Uncle says that you’ll have a new book out soon. I don’t have much time to read these days but I’d love to pick it up! When will it be out?”

Bilbo smiles at the eagerness in Kili’s voice and in his eyes. “It’ll be out in December, a Christmas release. I’ll have a copy ready for you, if you’d like.”

“Really?!” Kili asks, looking as if his Christmas has come early. “One for Fee too? He said he’s gonna be home for the holidays this year and if he’s not, I’ll kill him.”

“Your brother’s leave has already been approved,” Dis says with a long-suffering sigh. “What do you say to Bilbo?”

“God, Mum, I’m not five. I was getting there!” Kili says with his brow furrowed, which does indeed transform him into a younger Thorin. “Thanks a bunch, Bilbo. I haven’t read your books in ages but I loved them when I was a kid so I’m sure I’ll love them now. Fee too.”

Bilbo chuckles. “I’m glad to hear it, Kili. This is a good one, if I’m to say so myself. Oh, here comes your uncle,” he says, looking at the hallway which Thorin has appeared in. He looks harassed and not particularly happy but when he sees the phone in Bilbo’s hand, his shoulders loosen and he smiles.

“Kili?” he asks, coming to stand behind Dis and Bilbo. “Hey, mate.”

“Hey, Uncle!” Kili says, grinning a very white smile. “Bilbo’s going to give me his new book for Christmas!”

“That’s generous of him. He said I have to pay for my copy,” Thorin says and smiles when Kili laughs. “How are you?”

“Good! Really good. Ready to be home though,” Kili says and looks the most serious Bilbo has seen him. “This tour has wiped me out.”

“And to think that you’re only nineteen,” Dis says sweetly and with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Kili rolls his eyes. “And the lead guitarist and singer of an _internationally famous band,”_ he says slowly before he grins. “Anyway, I’ve got to go get ready for our last show. Sorry I don’t have more time! I’ll give you a ring tomorrow, Mum.”

“Please do.”

“It was great to talk to you, Bilbo! Please don’t break up with Uncle Thorin before I get my book.”

Bilbo laughs as Dis and Thorin both shush Kili. “I think I’m going to be sticking around for a while yet.”

“Good. The last one was terrible. A right git. I can already tell you two are going to be disgustingly romantic together. Take care of him, Uncle! Bye Bilbo! Bye Mum! Love you!”

“Love you, sweetheart,” Dis says while she laughs. Once Thorin and Bilbo have said their goodbyes, she hangs up the phone and shakes her head. “I can’t apologize for him anymore.”

“He was very polite,” Bilbo says with a pat to her hand. “And very nineteen.”

 _“Very_ nineteen,” Dis repeats. “Now I have to make a few phone calls before I can relax into my Saturday. If I don’t see you later, Bilbo, it was wonderful to get to chat!”

She has her phone to her ear and is gone before Bilbo is able to say _you too._ He blinks after her and then looks at Thorin, who has some tension lines in his brow.

“Erm… was that a bad call?”

Thorin looks surprised at the question for a moment before the tension eases away and he smiles, looking tired instead. “Only one that has gotten old. An old-”

“Business partner, yes, Dis told me,” Bilbo says lightly, turning in his stool and taking up Thorin’s hand.

“Did she?” Thorin asks, his eyes on Bilbo’s, almost as if he is looking for something. “Some of them like to think I’ll come out of retirement.”

“Will you?”

“Not a chance,” Thorin says and leans down, pressing his forehead against Bilbo’s. “I’m going to grow old and fat and never work another damn day in my life.”

Bilbo chuckles. “I’m not sure you’re capable of being fat.”

“Did Kili tell you I gained twenty-seven pounds when I traveled last year?”

“He didn’t but you’ve clearly lost it or turned it into another layer of muscle.”

“It was buy new clothes and never hear the end of it from my family or spend three months overdoing it in the gym.”

“Goodness, I love buying new clothes.”

Thorin laughs and kisses Bilbo on the nose. “I know you do,” he says fondly, his eyes soft. “I suppose I’m still used to having to intimidate people.”

Bilbo huffs. “Intimidate people often, did you?”

“More than you know,” Thorin says with a quirk of his lips before he captures Bilbo in a kiss.

And so their morning goes. Bilbo spends the rest of his day with Thorin and only reluctantly says goodbye that night, thinking that perhaps he needs to bring some of his clothing to Thorin’s.  
  
He has a feeling Thorin won’t mind.  
  
——  
  
Autumn steadily ebbs into winter and the sky begins to turn what seems like permanently ominously grey. It gets bitingly cold early this year but Bilbo spends the majority of his time indoors. His book release is coming up sooner than he anticipates and he spends time with an artist going over what he wants the cover of his book to look like. It’s a process he has always loved and when he receives a few different covers to choose from, he decides quickly and cannot wait for the day he is holding a hardback in his hands.

Gandalf has requested Bilbo do a book signing the week it is released and Bilbo agrees. He wishes for this series to take off faster than his others and despite his many loyal fans, he wishes to extend to new groups of readers. Perhaps it won’t be _Harry Potter_ popular but Bilbo thinks that he has created something special.

Thorin is a solid presence at his side throughout all of it and seems just as eager to read the book as his nephews are.

Bilbo meets Fili through another video call and they get along well. It’s hard not to, as Fili is a charming lad, calmer than his brother by far but equally polite and funny. He isn’t sure how it happens but they both get a hold of his phone number and become regular texters and Bilbo begins to think that he could do this forever. That he could be a part of the Durin family forever.

Everything is going fine and he is exceptionally happy these days. Perhaps he should have known it was only the calm before the storm.

It is the first winter day that he wakes to snowfall and a chillier room than usual. He reaches for Thorin but only feels an empty space and grumbles a bit at missing his personal heater. He scrubs his eyes and rouses from bed, noticing the snowfall outside and watching it for a few moments in awe, as he always does. His bladder makes itself known and he uses the bathroom and dresses for the day, leaving what he is now considering their bedroom. He stays with Thorin more often than not.

Bilbo takes the stairs down toward the kitchen but there seems to be a quietly spoken but obviously heated exchange going on at the table and he hovers midway down the stairs, not sure if he should interrupt.

It sounds like Thorin and Balin, who Bilbo has gotten to know by now and quite likes, but then there is a third voice, rougher than the other two and unfamiliar.

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this. This should be going to Dis,” Thorin says, a hint of annoyance to his tone.

“Because you’ve only been retired for two years, you arse. This can still come back to you. That’s why I’m tellin’ you this and if you just listened you’d know that,” the unfamiliar, gruff voice says.

“He has a point, Thorin, and you know it. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been retired when this has been happening since your grandfather started the company,” Balin says, ever the peacekeeper.

“I’m aware of that,” Thorin says with little patience. “But Dis is the one who takes care of the business now and she is more than capable. Are you trying to tell me we no longer have failsafes in place?”

“No, of course not. They’ll always be solid. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be aware the NCA is pokin’ their noses into your old business.”

“And what will they find?”

 _“Nothin’._ Like they’ve always found nothin’. But they dig deeper now and those failsafes have to be paid to continue it bein’ nothin’.”

Bilbo feels his pulse quicken, pounding painfully in his neck, his fingertips tingling, and doesn’t like this conversation. He tries to breathe evenly so as to keep himself calm and from being noticed. Perhaps what he is hearing is not as ominous as it sounds.

“They are being paid. Generously. They always will be and they will always be loyal. They know what happens when they’re not. I don’t see a problem. If the NCA is investigating, I have no doubts that Dis will be able to handle them as well as she always has.”

“She’s not as respected as you used to be. We have to be careful no matter how solid things might look,” Balin says calmly and the unfamiliar person grunts in agreement.

“When she’s done with them, they’ll respect her.”

“Fear her, more like.”

“As they should. I loathe to ask but how are the offshore accounts?”

“As operational and full as they’ve ever been, if not more. You don’t need to worry about them.”

Bilbo swallows, his throat dry, and tries to explain to himself what this conversation is about. But the rapid beat of his heart has him feeling lightheaded and nervous. It sounds like a conversation centered around a not so legitimate business and Bilbo has a hard time wrapping his head around it. He remembers the news article Drogo had warned him of, of the NCA investigating the company for money laundering but not finding any evidence. From what he has heard now, he wonders how much there has been to hide.

“Is this all you have to tell me? I expect the NCA to be as much of a nuisance as they always have been but I also trust my people.”

“Aye, as do I. But I’m still gonna warn you whenever they come sniffin’.”

“I suppose I should thank you then, Dwalin,” Thorin says, sounding more amused than anything. “Keep Dis up to date more than me. I’m enjoying my retirement.”

Dwalin.

Bilbo knows that name. He is an old friend of Thorin’s, someone he has known for most of his life, and also happens to be a chief working in Scotland Yard.

He feels sick now and doesn’t think he can handle more than what he’s already heard. He turns and shakily makes his way back upstairs into the bedroom, which looks sterile and foreign to him now. After grabbing his phone and his coat, he debates on gathering up his clothes but he doesn’t have anything to carry them in and decides against it.

Bilbo hurries back downstairs as light as he can in his socks and stalks past the kitchen, heading for the front door. He begins to put his shoes on and curses his hands for trembling badly enough that he has a hard time tying the laces.

“Bilbo?”

He freezes, hands hovering over his shoe before he slowly straightens out and looks up at Thorin, who is near the end of the hallway. He steps closer to Bilbo, frowning.

“Where are you going?”

Bilbo simply stares at Thorin and wonders how much of him he doesn’t know. How much of him is real.

Thorin looks concerned for a moment and then there is a dawning realization and he steps closer. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough, Thorin. I’m going home.”

“Bilbo, please. It isn’t what you think…”

He laughs, cutting Thorin off. “No, I’m sure it is what I think and I want nothing to do with it. Don’t follow me, Thorin,” he says and turns to the door, opening it and stepping out into the snow. He hurries down the steps and goes to the gate.

“Bilbo!” Thorin calls, standing in the doorway now, but Bilbo ignores him.

He leaves the manor and hurries down the quiet street, glancing back when he is far enough away that he can’t see the front door. Thorin has not come after him and he is grateful for it, as he has no idea what he could possibly say to what he has heard. And what he has heard sounded like… well, organized crime. He shakes himself and gets to a main street, hailing a taxi, shivering in the cold.

His phone rings as he gets in and it is Thorin but Bilbo silences it and puts it away, staring out of the window and feeling tears gather in his eyes. He blinks them furiously away and decides that it is best for him to not think of anything at all on his way home. He needs time to sort things out for himself.

But Bilbo cannot stop it. He thinks of Thorin, of his business, and wonders if he missed any signs. Thorin’s reluctance to talk about his old career, the way that his family’s corporation has bought up so many businesses in London, the previous investigations of which there has clearly been more than one. The way that Thorin’s old business partners want him back because they respected him… and Bilbo doesn’t think it’s simply because he was a good businessman.

There are chills down his spine and Bilbo hates it. He hates it with every fiber of his being.

He loves Thorin and it is a bitter, bitter realization but it is in every breath that he takes and his chest aches. He hasn’t fallen in love in such a long time that perhaps he didn’t remember the fall. But now that he is away from Thorin and in such a way that he never expected, the ache spreads to every part of him, and he trembles with the knowledge of it. Love should not be so painful, he thinks, and when he gets home, he succumbs to this pain and sits in his armchair and weeps.

Weeps for what he has lost because he cannot go back to Thorin. He cannot immerse himself more in a lifestyle that’s so strange to him, so unknown and so dangerous.  
  
——

There are some things that you simply cannot shake.

Bilbo does what he can over the next week to rid himself of the persistent niggling in the back of his mind but little helps. Thorin continues to call him and leaves voicemails that Bilbo cannot bring himself to listen to them. He texts nearly every day and it is always a plea for Bilbo to call him so he can explain things but he never makes an outright denial. Bilbo ignores it all and closes in on himself, not leaving his home but frightened that every moment he stays there, Thorin will show up at his doorstep.

He doesn’t.

There is an intense battle that he has with himself every day. Every day he wishes to answer Thorin’s call and hear his voice and he wishes to see him and to be held by _his_ Thorin. But then he thinks… who is his Thorin really? What secrets has he hidden, what crimes has he committed throughout his life? His grandfather started the company and groomed Thorin for it even when he was a child… what did he groom him for? These are questions Bilbo will never get an answer to if he cuts Thorin out of his life.

He’s simply not sure he is prepared to hear what Thorin has to say.

The holidays are approaching and Bilbo receives many invitations to family and friends’ holiday parties and he marks each one as not going. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand it. Everyone knows about Thorin and most have met him and Bilbo is not prepared to discuss a breakup, if that is indeed what has occurred. He isn’t sure. He only knows that he would not know what to say and that he’d break down instead and wishes for no one to be a part of that.

Drogo and Prim visit one day, thankfully without Frodo, as the lad can see right through him. It turns out that his parents are just as perceptive and tell him that if he ever needs a shoulder to lean on, they are there. He knows this already and thanks them but doesn’t think there is anything to talk about. All he can choke out is Thorin’s name and nothing more to do with him and Prim and Drogo don’t push him. They hug him and tell him it will be alright and offer to bury Thorin six feet under if he has hurt Bilbo in any particular way. He gives a somewhat crazed laugh at that, as he cannot help but wonder if Thorin has ever buried someone six feet under.

He buys groceries only when he is down to his last morsels of food and finally takes a look at his calendar, which he has been avoiding, because he has put dates and events on it that have to do with Thorin and his family and he can hardly bear to see their names. Fili and Kili are already texting him often enough (and waxing poetics about their uncle, as if this will convince him of anything) and even Dis called him once. She had left a voicemail and he couldn’t stop himself from listening to it.

_We care about you, Bilbo. Please, call me if you need anything… we miss you._

Ignoring the way he is vividly able to recall her voice, Bilbo sees a date circled in red on his calendar and feels a crater open in his chest.

He has an appointment with Gandalf. His last before the book is published.

Bilbo sits in his kitchen for hours that day, hardly eating, and wonders what he can do. Ask Gandalf to meet him elsewhere? It seems like a good plan until he realizes that Gandalf will be able to sniff out exactly the reason why. He considers canceling his appointment but it’s an important one and he simply begins to prepare himself for it.

On the day that it comes, however, Bilbo is sweating despite the cold of the day and his light coat. The taxi feels particularly stifling hot and Bilbo must endure it for the half hour long trip it is into London. By the time he is able to step out from the sweltering heat, he breathes in the cold, crisp air, letting it burn his lungs and dry his forehead. His hands are shaking and there is an open sea battle in his stomach but he puts on a brave face. He has arrived but two minutes before his appointment and hopes that this will ensure a short wait time.

He makes his way to the third floor and when he steps in front of the waiting room door, he stands there, unsure of what will happen when he enters. He will see Thorin, of that he has no doubt, and feels his heart in his throat, where it is throbbing angrily.

Bilbo closes his eyes, steeling himself, before he opens the door and steps inside, greeted by the warmth of a fireplace and the scent of old books.

And there is Thorin sitting behind the receptionist’s desk, looking much the same as when Bilbo first laid eyes upon him. He is dressed neatly, his hair tied up in a ponytail, and he has his silver reading glasses perched on his nose. He is typing away on the computer but when Bilbo closes the door behind himself, his eyes dart to him.

Thorin looks momentarily stunned, which Bilbo has a hard time believing, as he no doubt knows Bilbo is due in today. He stands abruptly, the chair behind him spinning, and Bilbo notices the dark circles around his eyes.

“I have an appointment with Gandalf and I’d like it to remain simply that, please and thank you,” Bilbo says quickly when Thorin opens his mouth.

Thorin looks pained and gives a slight nod, staring at Bilbo for a long moment. He finally sits heavily down in his chair and turns away, holding his hands over the keyboard but he doesn’t begin to type.

Bilbo sits stiffly on the sofa and simply tries to keep his tears at bay.

Seeing Thorin in this way, without speaking with him, touching him, anything, is filled with more agony than he expected.

It is one of the most charged atmospheres that Bilbo has ever experienced and it seems to take an age before Gandalf opens the door. Bilbo hurries inside, mumbling a greeting and quickly takes his seat at the high-backed chair he is so used to now.

Gandalf is quiet as he joins Bilbo at the desk and observes him for a time, saying nothing. Bilbo keeps his eyes on a beautiful golden timepiece on Gandalf’s desk, trying to will up the ability to even ask how he fares.

It takes a moment but Gandalf turns his chair around and reaches for a box, putting it on top of his desk. He reaches inside and pulls out a hardback book, beautifully bound in a dark cover and hands it silently to Bilbo.

He takes it and stares at the cover, his heart thudding loudly against his ribs and is able to muster up a smile. “It’s beautiful,” he says honestly but this moment feels muted. He holds his completed book in his hands and doesn’t feel any sense of accomplishment or pleasure though there is a twinge of pride.

It’s a perfect cover and he is glad he went with it. Gwendoline Hightower is painted with her hand held aloft, a shining golden ring on her finger, her hair blowing in the wind, and behind her are the silhouettes of eight more rings, all dark so as to not give away their detail yet. It is everything Bilbo imagined it could be and more.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf says quietly and reaches for the corner of his desk, grabbing a box of tissues and handing it over.

Bilbo is startled to find his cheeks are wet and his eyes are blurry and he hastily blinks his tears away, taking a tissue and wiping his face off. “Terribly sorry,” he says thickly. “It’s just… it’s wonderful, Gandalf.”

Gandalf is quiet, looking far too much like a man that knows everything, and lets Bilbo compose himself. “Bilbo,” he begins gently, “these are not tears of pride.”

“It’s nothing, Gandalf,” Bilbo says quickly. “You needn’t worry.”

“My dear boy, your mother tasked me with being worried about you when she died,” he says with a familiar twinkle in his eye. “Thorin is not a particularly… easy individual to get along with.”

Bilbo gapes at him, taken aback for a moment, though he doesn’t know why. Gandalf does know everything. He finally lets out a long sigh, leaning back in the chair, and looks toward the ceiling. “He’s actually particularly easy to get along with. That’s why I’m in this mess.”

“Is it a mess?”

Bilbo throws his arms in the air. “Of course it is!” he hisses waspishly. “You don’t even know what this mess consists of!”

“I may know more than you think,” Gandalf replies mildly and when Bilbo only stares at him, he sighs. “I have known Thorin since he was a boy and I knew his father and his grandfather before that. And I do some investigating before I hire someone.”

Really, nothing should surprise him at this point, but he finds himself there nonetheless. Bilbo helplessly stares at Gandalf before he covers his face with his hands. “Then you know precisely why this is a mess.”

“Might I remind you that he has been retired for some time,” Gandalf says and holds up his hand for silence when Bilbo opens his mouth to argue. “And I have never seen him in the sorry state he’s in now.”

“I don’t bloody care about his sorry state!” Bilbo says, fighting with himself to keep his voice down, whether it is filled with complete lies or not. “He… he lied to me for months! That’s not a healthy relationship!”

“Would you not have lied if the situation were different?”

Bilbo feels as if his head might implode. He gestures vaguely with his hands before he groans. “Perhaps it’s not the easiest thing to admit but… but I would have done it eventually!” he says, more lies. “Gandalf, he was a criminal.”

“And every person who has committed a crime is inherently a bad person?”

Bilbo scowls. “Do you know what, you are supposed to be on my side,” he says ungraciously. “It shouldn’t be both of us that you’re worried about.”

“It is both of you that I’m concerned about,” Gandalf says and smiles when Bilbo glares. “I’m fond of you both and in my many long years, I have seen love squandered endlessly and needlessly. It would do some good to not see it be so now.”

“You aren’t helping,” Bilbo says flatly. He glowers out of the window, cursing the snow that is beginning to fall. It is his second favorite season and he hasn’t been able to enjoy a moment of it. “Love shouldn’t be filled with lies anyway.”

“No,” Gandalf agrees, “but I do believe Thorin is prepared to tell you the truth.”  
  
“And I don’t believe I’m prepared to hear it,” Bilbo says somewhat snidely. Gandalf doesn’t reply and he broods, his book forgotten in his hands.

Gandalf lets him sit in silence for a short while. He eventually shifts in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers, peering over them. “I am not telling you to take Thorin back. If you choose a different path for yourself then I will continue to support you. I am only suggesting that you listen to what he has to say.”

Bilbo is prepared to make a snarky remark but instead he remains quiet. There is a dull ache in his chest that he knows won’t go away until he speaks with Thorin. He knows this, he does, but he doesn’t see how he’ll ever truly be prepared for it. Perhaps he’s not meant to be.

He looks down at his book, tracing his fingers reverently over the glossy cover and feels his blood coursing through his veins. He’s at a loss of what to say and wishes that he were home, curled up in his armchair, reading a good book and drinking a nice cup of tea. Some part of his traitorous heart wishes that he were doing so next to Thorin whose solid, steady presence in his life has meant everything to him.

Bilbo wipes his nose and holds his book close. “Can I take this copy with me? And two more?”

“Of course.”

He nods, taking them when Gandalf hands them over. “Thank you, Gandalf, for publishing my book.”

“It’s my pleasure. It will no doubt be a best seller. Celebrate it, Bilbo.”

Bilbo shakes Gandalf’s hand and leaves his office quietly, stepping into the waiting room and staring down at the rich hardwood floors reflecting the soft lighting around them. He knows he is being watched and counts to ten before he lifts his gaze and meets Thorin’s.

Thorin doesn’t look at his best and while this hurts Bilbo, he rather thinks he deserves it. Bilbo steps closer to the desk and a familiar book catches his eye. It is a copy from the same batch in Gandalf’s office and Bilbo is surprised to see that a bookmark is already marked nearly halfway through. He looks at Thorin, watching him, trying to see past what he now knows.

“Time,” he mumbles. “Give me time, Thorin. Please.”

“Anything,” Thorin says hoarsely and if Bilbo isn’t mistaken, his eyes look somewhat wet.

It’s too much for Bilbo’s fragile heart to handle and he nods, turning and fleeing the room as quickly as he can. He takes the stairs and doesn’t stop moving even when he’s outside, walking through the cold and the snow until he is out of breath and can do no more but hail a taxi. He’s simply not ready for this.  
  
——

Another week goes by at a glacial pace and Bilbo finds himself doing little more than reading his novel, which gives him a bit of a thrill no matter the other circumstances, and attempting to continue working on his short story. It had been coming along so well but his current situation is proving a less than ideal time to work. He curses Thorin for it and takes more naps than he usually does.

He wants to forgive Thorin. He wants to run to him and hold him and touch his soft hair and smell his comforting cologne and he never wants to stop. He wants to marry him, to grow old and fat with him somewhere with sunny shores and to never look back. But there is hurt inside of him that he cannot just ignore… there are also many burning questions that need answers only Thorin can provide. He picks up his phone numerous times and hovers over Thorin’s name but always backs out of it at the last moment.

Some part of him whispers that Thorin will get over him soon and he will cease to be in his life altogether. That Thorin won’t look back. He knows these are insidious thoughts, that Thorin really does want to be with him, but when he stops calling and texting he still feels a twinge in his heart. He had asked for time, yes, but now it feels as if Thorin is gone and he misses him so much it’s agonizing.

One day while Bilbo is torturing himself browsing through his phone and looking at all of the pictures Thorin and he had taken while they were together, selfies and pictures of food and places they went to, even a kiss that went onto Facebook and his overly religious aunt declared was sinful… it is getting to be too much for him and he nearly startles out of his skin when his laptop on the coffee table begins to ring.

He’s not exactly used to getting a call on his laptop and picks it up, blinking at Skype. He feels a sense of dread when he sees that it is a video call from Kili and considers launching his laptop across the room but he hasn’t backed up the few hundred words he managed to write this morning. Hoping this is not a ploy to put Thorin on the call, Bilbo goes against his better judgment and answers it.

There are two screens that pop up, both blurry, and Bilbo squints to try and make out the figures, his heart beating rapidly when he sees dark hair.

Thankfully it is only Kili when the screens come more into focus. And he has brought Fili along with him, it seems.

“Hello, lads,” Bilbo sighs.

“Hey, Bilbo!” Kili says with overly false cheerfulness.

“Hi, Bilbo,” Fili says with much more diplomacy. “It’s not a bad time, is it?”

Kili looks as if he is in a hotel room by himself, not the Durin manor, and Fili looks as if he is sitting inside of a tent. Not altogether shocking for either one of them.

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone until I’m ready?”

“Not a chance,” Kili answers with a familiar smile. “I mean, of course, unless you _really_ want us to.”

Fili rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to talk to us, Bilbo. Say the word and we’ll never bother you again.”

Bilbo snorts. “We both know that’s likely not true,” he says and leans back more comfortably on his sofa, relaxing at the sight of who he was beginning to consider his own nephews. “How are you two?”

“Could be better, honestly,” Kili says with a wrinkled nose.

“We’re alright,” Fili says, shooting Kili’s screen a dirty look. “We wanted to check up on you.”

“You look terrible,” Kili says and doesn’t look the least bit chastised when Fili shushes him. “No, you really do, mate.”

Bilbo cannot help but smile. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he says simply and ignores how serious they look following his words. “But I’m doing fine.”

“Your book goes on sale in two weeks, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, yes it does. Here, let me show you…” he trails off as he reaches for his coffee table, picking up his book. He holds it in front of the camera and laughs when the boys gasp in unison.

“Is that it?! It’s gorgeous!”

“I can’t wait to read it, Bilbo, it looks great!”

Bilbo nods. “Yes, it does look rather fantastic, doesn’t it? You’ll both get your copies soon.”

“Does that mean we’ll see you at Christmas?”

“Kili…”

“What? I’m only asking. Look, Bilbo, we also called because we wanted to tell you something.”

“No,” Bilbo says, feigning shock.

“Yeah, yeah, so we’re transparent. You still answered,” Kili says with what he thinks is utmost wisdom. “We want to see you on Christmas. We want to see you on Christmas happy and with Uncle Thorin.”

“And why should I do that?” Bilbo asks, genuinely curious to hear what they have prepared for him. It feels light and he is amused, not as bothered as he thought he might be.

“Because he fucking loves you and he’s a fucking mess without you!”

Fili opens his mouth as if to chastise his brother again but then he shrugs, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s about it,” he says and leans closer to the camera. “Bilbo, you’re our uncle, whether you’d like to be or not. We know what you found out wasn’t… the best but Thorin’s not a cheap mobster you see in all those movies.”

Bilbo sighs. “I do believe he would say he’s retired.”

“Exactly! And he’s never been a bad person. The ones that he loves mean more to him than anything else. And he loves you more than anyone I’ve ever seen him love. He talks about you like you’re going to be around forever. He wants that, Bilbo, and so do you. I know it.”

Bilbo stares down at his keyboard, hardly able to face Kili’s eagerness. “I don’t see how I’m simply supposed to forget what I’ve learned about your family. You two… you aren’t involved in it as well?” he asks, looking up worriedly at them.

“Nah,” Kili says. “Uncle Thorin always told us to take our own paths in life. He didn’t want us to follow in the steps of our grandfather and great-grandfather. Said he wanted more for us. Probably didn’t want Fili to do something as lame as join the armed forces though…”

Fili shakes his head. “Anyway, he was really happy when we set off to do what we actually wanted,” he says. “He’d been planning his retirement for ages. He tried to talk Mum out of leaving the company too but it’s all she knows and she handles it well. Everything that our great-grandfather did… they’ve tried to eradicate it and become legitimate, you know. It’s a long and tricky process from what I understand. Uncle and Mum try to keep us out of it. We only know anything because we pestered them enough into telling us.”

“Yeah and Mum still keeps pretty quiet about it,” Kili agrees. “It’s really not like the movies, Bilbo.”

“But from what I’ve heard, the company is still paying people to cover things up. Cover things up that the NCA is looking for.”

“Well there are decades worth of money laundering and extortion to hide still,” Kili says breezily and smiles when Fili lets out a long-suffering sigh. “But they’ve got all of that taken care of. It’s solid. Uncle’s never going to go back to it and he’ll die happy and old. Well, at least he’ll die happily if he’s got you by his side.”

“A compelling argument,” Bilbo comments flatly and sighs when the boys stare at him in anticipation. “I haven’t even talked to Thorin about this, blast it all! It’s him I would need reassurances from, you know.”

“He’ll give you them, Bilbo,” Fili says, smiling. “He’s more than ready to.”

“We’re all more than ready to see him do it. He’s a bloody wreck. Mum says he keeps moping in his pajamas all day.”

Bilbo smiles and regrets it the moment Fili and Kili exchange grins through their screens. “Oh, hush. This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili says and gives a slow wink. “He loves you. Shouldn’t that be all that matters?”

“I’m afraid there is far more than that that matters, Kili.”

“No, I think my brother’s right,” Fili says. “Sometimes all that’s needed is for two people who love each other to get through the worst life has to throw at them.”

“I’ll be taking advice from people much older than you two, thank you very much.”

Fili and Kili chuckle but their smiles are more conspiratorial than Bilbo would like. He watches them warily but they both keep quiet until he sighs.

“I do intend to talk to your uncle,” he says and gives them a hard look when they both cheer. “But I’ll do it when I’m ready to do it and not a moment sooner.”

“That’s all we can ask for. Just… give him a chance. You both work too well together not to,” Fili says, his voice soft. “Thanks, Bilbo.”

“Yeah, thanks, Uncle Bilbo.”

Bilbo grumbles a bit at the moniker but doesn’t have the heart to correct Kili on it. They talk a bit more about nonsense and it goes as smoothly as it always has, if not better, because Bilbo _feels_ better.

He’s shocked to realize it when he sets his laptop aside ten or so minutes later. He tips his head back on the couch and stares at the ceiling, no real tension in his body. In his mind and heart perhaps but it’s not how it was only just before the boys’ video call and he’s disgruntled to think that the pair of them have helped him in any way.

Picking up his phone, Bilbo opens his pictures back up and finds his favorite picture of him and Thorin. They had someone take it for them when they were out on a riverboat on the Thames. Thorin’s hair is loose and he has his arm wrapped around Bilbo and a very genuine grin on his face. He looks happy. And when Bilbo looks at himself, well, he thinks that he looks like a man that is in love.

Because he loves Thorin so much that he often feels he cannot possibly take in enough air to breathe properly. He has yet to come off of the high he got the moment he met Thorin and though it was somewhat damaged, it is still there, soaring, and Bilbo doesn’t think he’s ready to come down yet.

Perhaps that is why he puts on his oxfords.  
  
——  
  
Bilbo doesn’t know what makes him do it. He’s not ready, not the least bit, but he still walks out of his door after calling a taxi. He sits in the car and watches the gathering clouds form into what no doubt will bring a snowstorm any moment now. His knee bobs and he keeps his fists clenched and tries to hold onto his courage. He has braved worse situations in his life and though it was not always cleanly, he had at least survived it and come out better on the other side.

By the time he’s in the city, it’s nearly dark and the snow is falling heavily. Fat flakes stick to the window and he continues to stare out of it until a familiar street comes into view. He breathes evenly and tells himself that if he waits any longer, he will never find a time when he is ready and after a while, it’ll be too late for either of them.

The driver stops in front of the manor and Bilbo pays him, stepping out and looking up at the gate. He closes his eyes and lets snow flakes caress his forehead and cheeks until his nose grows too cold. He steps forward through the unlocked gate and ascends the stairs, coming to a stop in front of the massive front doors. He looks at the brass doorbell and with a wildly trembling hand, presses it.

There is no turning back now. Someone will answer the door and Bilbo will have to face them. Unless of course no one is home and then he will… he will not be sure what to do then. His nerves are beginning to flare with life and he finds himself shaking from more than just the cold. He’s sure he looks in a right state but there’s nothing that can be done for it.

The door opens and a flood of golden light flows out from the foyer and Bilbo looks upon a familiar face.

Balin looks shocked to see him before he visibly lights up, his bushy eyebrows flying toward his hairline and opens his mouth.

Bilbo shakes his finger. “Only him for now,” he says quickly.

Balin nods seriously and holds the door open for Bilbo.

“No, thank you, I’m fine right where I’m at.”

“Very well, laddie,” Balin says. “Just a moment.”

He closes the door some, not all the way, but enough that the cold air won’t burst through. Balin disappears and Bilbo waits, a thousand things he’d like to say ready to burst from inside him. Part of him wishes to turn tail and run but he knows he cannot. He has come too bloody far in his life to run.

It takes a few moments but Bilbo hears footsteps and the door is being opened again.

He’s as glorious as he always is and Bilbo feels anger at the thought and bitter at the way he feels like flying when he looks at Thorin.

Thorin is staring at him, his mouth agape, and is indeed wearing pajamas with his black silk robe over them. He looks as if he hasn’t slept well in a while and his hair is a right bird’s nest and his glasses are crooked on his nose. He seems to realize it and hastily takes them off, stuffing them in his pocket.

“Bilbo,” he murmurs, looking rather frightened.

“Are you a mobster?” Bilbo asks, glaring.

Thorin blinks and furrows his brow, his mouth opening once before he closes it, then again. “I…” he trails off and swallows. “I was.”

“And now? Are you retired?”

Thorin nods, stepping closer to the threshold. “Yes, Bilbo. Completely.”

“Then why were you having a mobster pow wow in your kitchen?”

“I ran the company for over thirty years, Bilbo, I have to expect the occasional update. No matter a legitimate one or not.”

Bilbo sniffs. “I suppose that’s a fair point,” he grumbles. “Would you step back further if I asked you to?”

“Yes,” Thorin breathes quickly, “anything.”

Bilbo glares some more, bouncing on his toes, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Because if - _if,_ Thorin - I accept you back into my life, there are certain things that I want absolutely no part in, do you understand me?”

Thorin nods, stepping closer, out into the cold.

“And there is no chance that you will ever be arrested? Even if you’re 85 years old, fat, and living on the French Riviera? There’s always a paper trail.”

There is a smile tugging at Thorin’s lips. “Not if you have someone working the paper trail,” he says and mumbles much more quietly, “and the police.”

Bilbo huffs, his breath clouding. “I suppose you’d have to have that,” he says. “Not that I like it, mind you.” He shakes his finger. “And do you swear you will never let Fili and Kili be involved?”

“They never have been and they never will be,” Thorin says and reaches carefully out, brushing his fingers over Bilbo’s arm. “Bilbo…”

“Not yet!” Bilbo snaps. “Have you killed people?”  
  
Thorin looks taken aback at the question but he shakes his head. “No, Bilbo. Intimidation where it’s needed worked well enough.”  
  
Bilbo supposes he’ll just have to cope with that. “You can promise me that _I’ll_ never be involved?”

“I’ll protect you from it with my life,” Thorin says and carefully lifts his hand, which is trembling nearly as much as Bilbo’s entire body is. He lays it on Bilbo’s cheek, as warm and as comforting as it always has been.

Bilbo sniffles, resting his hand over Thorin’s. “Well, alright then. I suppose that’s good enough. For now, any- mmf!”

He is taken by surprise when Thorin’s lips meet his though it is a light kiss and he is obviously testing the waters. When Bilbo pulls back, there is a flash of fear in Thorin’s eyes, so he grabs him by his hair and tugs him down and kisses him and hopes that it says _I missed you_ and _I love you_ and _I won’t leave you if we do this right._

When they separate, they don’t move far and Thorin rests his forehead against Bilbo’s. “You’ll catch a cold,” he says softly. “Come inside.”

“Alright,” Bilbo says.

And Thorin takes him inside where it is warm and it is _home_ and Bilbo never thinks of leaving it until they are old and retire to sunny shores with fresh sea air and the sounds of gulls and their laughter and their eternal love.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, I dreamt this story during a nap. At least the first scene and it was So Weird but I floated the idea to some friends and here we are nearly 20k later! FYI, I have no idea how publishing books or organized crime works so let's just pretend they work like this, ok? c;
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please, please, please leave kudos and a comment! They mean everything to a writer and give so much motivation to write more! Thank you!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)
> 
> Edit: Check this art by rutobuka for the fic out!! Many thanks to Tea-Blitz!!!!
> 
> [Here](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/post/173520792703/tea-blitz-also-won-the-finish-a-fic-february)


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